by C. L. Werner
Now, more than ever before, he understood that he had left behind the world he had known. This was the domain of the Blood God, existing only by the whim of Khorne.
The floor of the plaza was composed of black rock, splitting into a narrow ledge that circled the rim of the octagonal arena. The centre of the arena was a great platform of blackened stone bordered in brass. Between ledge and platform yawned a deep trench, its depths filled with churning magma. A few footbridges connected ledge and platform, the largest of these fronting directly beneath the immense brass antlers.
Vakaan pointed his staff at the doorway across from the entrance from the Fortress of Brass. ‘You must hurl the Spear into the doorway. It is invested with the power of the Raven God. It will break the hold of the Blood God upon this place. Var’Ithrok will no longer be master here and Kakra the Timeless will be free.’
Urbaal sheathed his sword and tightened his grip on the Spear. ‘Then let us end this,’ the Chosen said, marching towards the Portal.
Ever since learning how Kaarn had been destroyed, Gorgut had watched Urbaal with a sullen gaze. The black orc was mulling over thoughts in his savage brain, thoughts of magic and power. He still wasn’t impressed by the Spear, it wasn’t the sort of thing a proper orc would carry. But he respected what it could do. Anything that could kill a monster like Kaarn would make quick work of Grumlok. Then Gorgut would be warboss of the Badlands, supreme warlord of the greenskins!
While the humans tended their wounds, Gorgut made his plans. It took some head-cracking to get Zagbob and Dregruk working together, but at last his surviving underlings understood what was needed of them. The black orc gave a sly look to Dregruk, then a slight tilt of his head in Zagbob’s direction. A gruesome smile spread over Gorgut’s face.
Without warning, the black orc hurled himself at Urbaal. His axe smashed into the Chosen, cracking his armour and throwing him to the ground. Gorgut’s steel-shod boot smashed into Urbaal’s chin, knocking him back as he started to rise. ‘I wantz dat fancy git-sticka!’ the warlord growled, raising his axe to finish off the fallen human.
As soon as Gorgut started his attack, his underlings sprang into action. Vakaan was nearly thrown from his disc as Dregruk pounced on him, the orc’s choppa crashing into the bottom of the steed. Magus and daemon were hurled back by the powerful blow, crashing against the wall of the arena. Zagbob loosed an arrow, scowling as the poisoned missile glanced from Kormak’s helmet. The snarling goblin pointed his claw at the marauder, his two surviving squigs bounding towards their prey.
‘Fools!’ Vakaan roared. ‘Idiot beasts!’ The magus struggled to recover command of his disc, at the same time frantically pulling talismans from beneath his robes. The terror in the sorcerer’s voice gave even the greenskins pause. They looked at Vakaan, trying to understand the reason for his fear.
Soon it was obvious even to the orcs. As Urbaal’s blood dripped from the wound Gorgut had struck him, the angry sky darkened. A fierce wind began to surge from beyond the great doorway beneath the antlers, the faces shrieking upon the black surface falling silent. A smell of death surrounded them, seeping into their lungs.
The entire plaza shook as a gargantuan figure emerged from the Portal, scarlet energies clinging and rippling about its body. It had a semblance of human shape, with great bronze-shod hooves for feet and long talons upon the tips of its fingers. Enormous bat-like wings stretched from its shoulders, shrouding its body like a cloak. Its skin was a pale burgundy, like rancid blood. Great bull-like horns protruded from the sides of its skull while a pair of smaller, sword-like growths sprouted from its scalp. Upon its forehead, burned into the crimson skin was the skull-rune of Khorne. Beneath the brand, the daemon’s skeletal face glowered, its fiery eyes glowing beneath its heavy, protruding brow. Armour as black as midnight and edged in brass circled its legs and wrists, a massive plate of steel lashed across its breast.
The thing took a thunderous step onto the central platform, the magma in the trenches shivering as the mammoth hoof sent a tremor running through the floor. It lifted an axe the size of an Aesling longship, the skull-rune smouldering upon its face of blackened steel. The monster’s face, inhuman in its evil, stretched into a fanged smile.
‘Kakra has waited millennia for those who would free him,’ the daemon’s voice growled like iron upon an anvil. ‘And this is the best Tzeentch can send!’
The gigantic daemon chuckled, its laughter like the rumble of a volcano. It gestured with its axe, pointing it at Dregruk. The orc was paralyzed as a crimson mist surrounded him. Thicker and thicker the blood-hued fog grew, until Dregruk disappeared behind it. Then, in the blinking of an eye, the mist surged inwards, rushing down the orc’s mouth, nose and ears. Dregruk’s body swelled, filling like a goatskin bladder. At last, the pressure building inside his body was too great. In a swelter of gore, Dregruk burst apart.
The daemon smiled down at the awestruck survivors. The folded wings suddenly snapped open, stretching clear across the arena. The bloodthirster’s voice fell to a rumbling roar. ‘There is no victory here,’ it promised, ‘only death.’
Urbaal swore in terror as he saw Var’Ithrok emerge from the Portal of Rage. He lunged for the fallen Spear, eyes locked on the Portal. Using the Spear to reconsecrate the Portal to Tzeentch was their only prayer of overcoming the bloodthirster. The Chosen felt victory swell in his heart as his fingers locked around the enchanted Spear. He started to lift himself from the ground, intent on dashing to the Portal before the Skull Lord took notice of him.
It was not the Skull Lord who struck him. Gorgut’s axe smashed down into Urbaal’s back, spilling him back onto the floor. The black orc left his weapon buried in the Chosen’s spine. Prowling around Urbaal’s body, Gorgut ripped the Spear from his weakened fingers. A broad grin shaped itself across the orc’s brutal features. He turned and stared up at the immense daemon.
Gorgut did not hesitate. The black orc glared up at the enormous daemon. With a tremendous bellow of raw animal fury, he turned from Urbaal and charged the bloodthirster. Gorgut’s spear stabbed deep into the bronze-shod hoof of Var’Ithrok. The orc wrenched it free with a savage tug, splinters of hoof flying across the ground. Howling like some primal force, Gorgut brought his weapon slamming a second time into the daemon’s hoof, watching for the first sign that Var’Ithrok would disintegrate as Kaarn had.
The relic that had destroyed a daemon prince, however, was not strong enough to destroy the Skull Lord. Var’Ithrok stared down at Gorgut, the bloodthirster’s face contorting with incredulous amusement, like a shark confronted by a fierce minnow. The mammoth axe in the daemon’s hand came slashing down in a broad sweep of death. Displaying supernatural skill, Var’Ithrok brought the merest edge of its keen axe slicing across Gorgut’s body. The orc’s head was cloven by the blow, the warlord’s body hurled across the ground. It crashed against the bronze wall of the trench then fell into the hungry embrace of the magma below.
Var’Ithrok turned away from Gorgut’s destruction, the Spear still impaled in its hoof. The bloodthirster’s eyes burned with amusement as it considered its few remaining foes.
Vakaan swept his staff before him, magical lightning sizzling from its head. The blast struck the daemon in the chest, crackling against its armour. The bloodthirster glared at the magus, enraged by this heathen who would profane the Bastion Stair with sorcery. The Skull Lord took a lumbering step towards Vakaan. As it did so, a glowing pentagram appeared beneath its hoof. A long-limbed daemon composed of pink light took shape within the five-pointed circle. Its claws scraped and tore at the bloodthirster, burning with each touch of its grubby fingers.
The daemonic horror Vakaan had summoned was doing no lasting harm to the Skull Lord, but it was slowing Var’Ithrok’s advance, the spectral chains of its summoning circle binding the bloodthirster to the spot. At least so long as the daemon was able to endure Var’Ithrok’s savage retaliation.
The magus forced himself to tear his attention away from the bloo
dthirster. He found Kormak pressed against the bronze wall of the arena, Zagbob’s squigs leaping and snapping at him. As soon as the marauder tried to strike one, the other would lunge in, its fangs raking his flesh. Behind the squigs, the goblin himself continued to take aim with his shortbow. Already several arrows were lodged in Kormak’s body, their poison slowing and weakening him. Deciding that retreat was impossible, the cruel goblin was determined to take one last victim with him before he died.
Vakaan pointed his staff at Zagbob. A burst of swirling, rainbow light engulfed the goblin. Zagbob shrieked as the muscles of his arms sprouted claws and began to tear themselves free from his body. His legs collapsed into purple jelly, feathers bubbling up from the morass. A pallid organ oozed itself up from the goblin’s throat, choking his screams, then took flight upon scintillating wings. In a matter of heartbeats, the unfocused, malignant mutations Vakaan’s spell sent tearing through the goblin’s body left only a greasy puddle of protean muck staining the blackened stones.
The destruction of the squig hunter sent his beasts into a panic. One turned, bounding back to investigate the disintegrating goblin. A slimy tendril shot out from the puddle, searing through its foreleg. The fungal monster writhed and wailed as it thrashed against the ground, helpless to flee as the blob-like residue of its master slid over it and began to consume it.
The other squig made the mistake of persisting in its attack on Kormak. Without the fangs of the other squig to tear at him, the marauder was able to shape his mutant arm into a great bludgeon of bone. He struck the squig as it leapt at him, the fury of the blow hurling it into the bronze wall. The fungoid creature burst like rotten fruit, its wreckage slowly dripping down the face of the wall.
‘The Spear!’ Vakaan shouted, pointing at the bloodthirster’s hoof. The magus had no time to explain further. A piercing shriek announced the destruction of his daemon. Hastily, he raised his staff and summoned a second pink horror to slow Var’Ithrok’s advance.
Kormak pulled poisoned arrows from his body, his breath a hot torment as he drew it down into his lungs. He did not know what kind of filth Zagbob had used on him, nor what its effects would be. He only knew that he was the only one left to accomplish their quest, to bring final glory to Tchar’zanek and the Raven Host.
Wearily, Kormak pushed himself away from the wall. Every part of him, body and soul, tried to hold him back as he made a painful dash for the closest bridge over the trench and the towering daemon looming beyond it. Terror roared through his heart, but Kormak kept his eyes locked on the Spear stuck in Var’Ithrok’s hoof.
Sweat cascaded down Vakaan’s face as the magus hurriedly summoned another horror from the Realm of Chaos. These minor daemons had no real chance against the bloodthirster, no more chance than Gorgut and his mad attack. But the magic that bound them to their summoning circles could also hold Var’Ithrok, if only for the fleeting moment it took the bloodthirster to destroy Vakaan’s daemons.
Vakaan was under no delusion that any of his powers could stop the bloodthirster for long. Arcane lightning, bolts of change, orange fires that scorched the soul, these were only pebbles against the malignance of the Skull Lord. Var’Ithrok had endured since before time, it was a beast powerful enough to imprison Kakra the Timeless, one of Tzeentch’s eldest Lords of Change. It was an embodiment of Khorne’s rage, of the Blood God’s insatiable lust for destruction. Against such a force, any man was less than nothing.
Yet still he had to try. Vakaan could feel more than the baleful gaze of the Blood God watching him. He could feel the thousand eyes of Tzeentch judging his every thought. In his mind he could hear the crackling voice of Kakra whispering to him. You shall defeat… have defeated the Skull Lord. The glory of Tzeentch is… will be the Raven Host’s.
The magus watched as Kormak made his desperate drive across the shuddering span of the footbridge. The marauder moved with maddening slowness. How long Vakaan could hold Var’Ithrok he did not know, but he knew he had to keep the bloodthirster’s attention long enough to give Kormak a chance.
Vakaan started to draw the winds of sorcery into his mind, to shape the raw magic into a withering blast of sorcery. The incantation was just hissing through his lips when he suddenly gasped in pain. His hand fell to his chest, groping at the thick steel bolt protruding from between his ribs. Blood darkened his hand as it bubbled up between his fingers. His body jerked as another bolt slammed into it inches from the first, nailing his hand to his chest.
The magus crumpled as his strength deserted him. The ornate staff fell from his hand, evaporating into smoke before it could strike the floor. Vakaan slumped against the back of his daemon steed, then pitched over its side. He struck the ground hard, his shoulder fracturing as it absorbed the shock. He moaned in pain, membranes flicking closed over his eyes as he braced himself for the end.
It came, but not in the shape he expected. Waiting for another crossbow bolt to stab through his flesh, Vakaan finally opened his eyes to see the slavering mouth of his daemonic disc hurtling down for him. He waved his injured arm in a futile effort to shield himself from the disc’s vengeance, but there was little he could do to stop it. His scream was an avian shriek as the disc’s mouth snapped close around his face and began to chew.
Beblieth watched the magus die, letting the crossbow fall from her hands. She sneered at the screaming sorcerer, then smiled as she watched the last daemon he had summoned to distract Var’Ithrok flicker and vanish. The bloodthirster swung its immense body around, its burning eyes settling on the puny shape of Kormak as he sprinted towards it.
The witch elf had hoped to kill the marauder herself, but she had contented herself with allowing the daemon to destroy him. That way he would know the full extent of his defeat and his soul would be Var’Ithrok’s plaything for all eternity. It would be a pleasant image to warm her cruel soul while she waited for Naagan’s poison to send her to her own god’s judgement.
Kormak froze as the bloodthirster turned towards him. He felt its fiery gaze boring down, stripping away the courage from his soul. There was the promise of endless agony in that stare, the threat of more than simple destruction. Those who dared defy a daemon would find no rest in death. The marauder felt icy fear crawl down his spine. Only the sight of the Spear sticking from Var’Ithrok’s hoof stayed him from flight.
The marauder fought down his terror, bracing himself for the obliterating ire of the Skull Lord. Would the daemon burst him with its malignant will, the force that had allowed its rage alone to obliterate Dregruk and defy the magic of Vakaan or would it simply butcher him with its axe as it had Gorgut? Whatever the end, Kormak would face it, not flee from it.
Motion beyond the bloodthirster caught Kormak’s eye. Impossibly, Urbaal was rising to his feet, Gorgut’s axe still sticking from his back. The Chosen stumbled weakly, then drew his sword. He stared at Kormak, locking eyes with the marauder. The power of Tzeentch suddenly burst from the sword, burning all around it like the very claw of the Raven God.
Var’Ithrok turned as Urbaal invoked the might of Tzeentch. The bloodthirster glared down at the Chosen, raw hate dripping from the daemon’s fangs. It took a lumbering step towards the defiant mortal, smashing its axe down at him.
Somehow Urbaal found the strength to dive away from the huge axe as it hurtled towards him. He was thrown from his feet as the mammoth blade gouged into the ground. Var’Ithrok wrenched the giant weapon free and brought it smashing down once more. Again, the frustrating mortal escaped, leaping back before the axe could crush him.
In its fury, the Skull Lord forgot Kormak. The Norscan understood the desperate gambit Urbaal had taken onto himself. He was playing the part of Vakaan’s now vanished daemons, holding the bloodthirster’s attention so that Kormak could recover the Spear and cast it into the Portal of Rage.
Kormak summoned his last reserves of strength and the very dregs of his courage. Grinding his fangs together, the marauder charged beneath the folds of Var’Ithrok’s wings, dodged betwee
n the bloodthirster’s stomping hooves. His arm again took the shape of a great chitinous claw as he grabbed the Spear protruding from the daemon’s hoof. Howling against the agony burning through his arms, Kormak used every muscle in his body to rip the Spear free.
The Skull Lord remained oblivious to Kormak’s effort, even as the Spear was torn loose. The daemon had eyes only for the insufferable human who somehow continued to elude its axe. Var’Ithrok’s enraged roars threatened to split the very heavens, rumbling off the bronze walls with the force of an earthquake. Abruptly, the frustrated daemon stopped trying to cut down Urbaal with its axe. The bloodthirster’s malignant eyes blazed with unspeakable hate, thrusting the very horror of its essence into the Chosen’s mind.
Urbaal wilted under the malefic gaze, staggering in numbed shock, his wits shattered by Var’Ithrok’s assault. The gleam of his sword flickered and began to fade.
Now the bloodthirster brought its axe chopping down at its bewildered enemy, but not blind and rage-ridden as it had before. It was careful now, slashing its huge axe in an almost delicate sweep, taking great pains not to utterly annihilate its foe. The edge of the axe rasped across Urbaal’s neck, slashing through his thick armour as though it weren’t even there. The Chosen’s head leapt into the air, borne aloft upon a fountain of blood. Then head and body crumpled to the floor, the last glow of the champion’s sword dying with him.
The bloodthirster’s grisly face crinkled into a sneer as it inhaled the scent of Urbaal’s blood, savouring the smell of its vanquished foe. But another smell intruded upon its pleasure. A smell of danger. Var’Ithrok spun about and it was the daemon’s turn to know doubt.